


One-man Show

by ToxicAvenger



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Shameless Smut, Sheriarty - Freeform, jimlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:43:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5097833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicAvenger/pseuds/ToxicAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has been having dreams of an unwanted nature. About Jim. </p><p>Eventually something has to give. And it does. </p><p>Sherlock gives in to his desires, albeit not quite the way he expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One-man Show

**Author's Note:**

> It's all about the smut.

Sherlock’s mind was still hazy from the dream he had just woken from. His breathing was hardly more than ragged gasps, his heart beating with loud thuds that resonated in his ears. What was worse, he was undeniably half-hard from the vivid images that still lingered in his mind.

“What the fuck was that…?” he groaned into his pillow, trying to collect himself. Another one of the dreams that had haunted him lately. Yes, haunted was the right word. He did not want them, and he was still alarmed every time he woke to the realization that his subconscious had been playing tricks on him again.

 _Jim Moriarty._ Or only Jim. That's what he called him in his dreams. Sherlock felt his cheeks grow a little warmer at the recollection of his dream self. He shook his head impatiently. How the hell had _Jim_ gotten into his head like this? He couldn’t understand it. Sure, he would admit that the criminal filled his mind during the day time, as he worked his arse off solving the last crime he had orchestrated, or pulling at one of the countless threads of his spider web to see where it lead. But this…? It made no sense. Sherlock was not about bodily needs, had never been. Until these past few weeks, he amended wearily, rolling onto his back and stretching his body to full length, trying to get comfortable.

The dream had been more vivid than ever, as evidenced by the acute ache in his groin and the complete need he felt now. The scenes from his dream played repeatedly in his mind, accompanied by the all to realistic feel of his own lips against the stubble on Jim's jaw, hands touching him, stroking him, and the firm grasp on his curls as his head was pulled back so the other man could let his teeth graze his neck.

A shiver ran through Sherlock, and he knew he had to shut down this train of thought as soon as possible, before his body rebelled against him. He was determined he would not give in, but it was next to impossible to ignore the acuteness of his desire. Sherlock contemplated for a few seconds whether he should slip into the bathroom and take a cold shower, but he thought better of it. The bathroom was right next to John’s bedroom, and he was a light sleeper. Soldier instincts and all. He would probably question Sherlock’s need for taking a shower at 3:09 in the morning. No, that wouldn’t do.

In spite of Sherlock’s attempts at breathing deeply and focusing on something mundane, like finger print patterns or the contents of the samples he had collected from a crime scene the previous day, the ache in his groin didn’t let up, as his erection refused to die down of its own accord. Rolling his eyes at himself in the dark, Sherlock eventually decided to give in to his body’s hunger. As he drew a shaky breath, trying carefully not to imagine a pair of brown eyes and small, delicate hands touching his all-too-hot body, he slipped a hand beneath the covers to close around his cock.

Sherlock was still surprised at his own reactions to a mere dream, and felt relieved that no one would ever need to know about this strange fixation. He let out a soft groan as the palm of his hand traced the outline of his hard cock through the fabric of his boxers. Jagged spikes of pleasure hit him and the muscles in his stomach clenched at his own touch. Just a few light brushes were enough to make him completely hard, jutting against the fabric of his boxers.

Anticipating a quick finish, he didn’t bother pulling them off, just slipped a hand down below the waistband. His other hand curled around the bed sheets, in response to the immediate increase in sensations brought on by skin-on-skin contact. He made a fist to start stroking his entire length slowly, lazily, relishing the feeling. His breathing spiked again, and he arched his back slightly in response to the throbbing pressure.

“Oh god. Jim..." The man’s name was torn from him before he even had time to realize it had formed on his lips. He had increased the speed a little; the image of the man was now so undeniably present in his mind that he didn’t even bother with the pretense of thinking of anything but him.

“Fuck… Jim…” he repeated, as images from his dream fueled his desire, bringing it to heights beyond anything he would have thought himself capable of. Sherlock couldn't help but imagine how it would feel to have the smaller man on top of him, resting his hands on the small of his back and pressing him to his body, the feel of lips against his neck as a hard erection would press against his hip.

“Yes, darling, do you need anything?” came a soft whisper from somewhere in the room.

The world stopped. Time lost its meaning. That voice. Here, in his bedroom.

_FUCK._

Sherlock’s body was frozen in shock, his hips raised slightly from the bed, mid-thrust against his hand. His eyes flew open to locate the source of the familiar voice, the voice that should in no way be present here in this room right now.

But there he was. Jim was sitting at the edge of the bed, legs crossed, hands folded on one knee, resting against the trouser of his no doubt ridiculously expensive suit. And he was smirking, absolutely radiating smugness even in the dark, clearly enjoying the sight in front of him.

“What the hell are you doing here? I’m… How on earth…?” Sherlock spluttered in consternation.

He was finding it hard to gain any sort of composure, as he was still too acutely aware of his hand on his cock. Though hidden by the bed covers, the shape of it would be clearly visible to the man at the foot of the bed. Not to say anything of the sounds that had emanated from him. Sherlock groaned internally at the thought.

“Oh, honey, you know that no lock can keep me out. And a good thing too, I wouldn’t have missed this show for the _woooorld._ ” Jim's teasing reply floated toward him, softly spoken, but still sending a thrill down Sherlock's back.

Sherlock was at a total loss for words, and he had no idea how to extract himself gracefully from the situation. Matters were not made better by the fact that the sound of that silky voice made his cock jump and twitch against his fingers. Only pure mortification gave him the strength to stifle a moan, but he was still hard pressed to gather anything resembling the kind of will power needed to release his grip on himself.

“Please, don’t let me keep me from what you were doing,” Jim continued, as Sherlock could not find a fitting reply to the flirting comment, the criminal’s smirk now broader than ever.

“Show Daddy how you like it… And say my name again, that was _so_ hot,” his voice came out deeper now, hoarser, obviously affected.

Sherlock sucked in a breath at the sound of the throaty voice and the thought of continuing his handy work in plain sight of Jim. He came to his senses again for long enough to manage a hiss directed at the other man. He wanted to end this humiliating incident as quickly as humanly possible.

“Don’t be ridiculous! That wasn’t what… I was just, ehm... You know, relieving tension,” Sherlock tried, full well knowing there was no way to get around the fact that he had just moaned Jim’s name in the most obscene manner, and more than once.

Jim only chuckled, and uncrossed his legs to move a bit closer, seating himself on the edge of the bed still, but closer to the middle of it. Infuriatingly, Sherlock felt his cock still aching against his fingers, only increasing with the proximity of Jim, as he came close enough for him to get a hint of the scent of his rich cologne. Sherlock’s breathing was still coming too fast to hide his reactions from the other man.

“Oh, Sherlock, don’t be shy, I’m flattered! Really, I am,” Jim positively cooed, eyes glittering in the dark. “What if you imagine me getting in there with you, and taking you in my mouth, would that help you on?” Jim breathed, leaning in a bit closer.

It hit Sherlock like a ton of bricks, his eyes snapped shut and instinctively his hips jerked up into his fist. A small groan escaped him even through clenched lips. He didn’t know why Jim was doing this, but he suspected he enjoyed seeing him come undone as he himself remained in control. He should put an end to it, but he couldn't make his body obey his mind as he opened his eyes and stared up into those hypnotizing brown ones that seemed to be on fire with dark passion. 

“Would you like that, Sherlock? Would you like me to get on my knees in front of you, and close my lips around your cock? Moving up and down, using my tongue on you? Gracing you with my teeth, just barely?” His voice was so smooth, so seductive, and the images were so vivid that Sherlock didn’t even register that he’d started stroking himself again.

“God, fuck you, Jim! I don’t… What are you…” As the words fell from Sherlock’s lips, he wasn’t even sure what he had planned on saying.

“You want me to leave, then? Just say so, and I will,” Jim promised, even though Sherlock could feel his weight shifting on the bed, coming even closer.

Sherlock felt a urgent tingle starting to build at the base of his spine, and couldn’t bring himself to answer. He didn’t want Jim to leave, but he couldn’t get himself to say the words that would make him stay. So he said nothing, his heavy breathing and the visible movements from underneath the sheets saying it for him.

“When I’d got your cock all nice and wet and throbbing, and your body screaming for release... I’d get on top of you, straddle you, let you watch and squirm as I prepare myself, and then I'd sink down on you…”

The sound of Jim’s breathy voice was interrupted by a loud moan from Sherlock, so far gone now that he didn’t care about pretenses anymore. He was too restricted by sheets and boxers, couldn’t get enough room to keep up the speed that he wanted, that he needed. He threw the covers aside, and quickly hitched his boxers out of the way, releasing his erection.

He could hear Jim suck in a breath, obviously not expecting that. Something like excitement coursed through Sherlock at the sound. So, he wasn’t as unfazed as he seemed to be. Sherlock didn't look at him, just laid down on his back again, wondering idly what the other man made of the sight of him completely naked. He could almost feel the burning intensity of Jim's stare, and slowly let his hand slide a bit further down to give his balls a few fleeting strokes, relishing the sting of heat the touch brought with it, before returning to his cock.

Damn, this felt too good, he wouldn’t last long this way. Wasn’t that considered embarrassing? Should he do something to prolong it? How did ordinary people go about these kinds of situations? The thoughts floated distractedly through Sherlock's hazy mind. He didn’t care, he only knew he wanted to hear Jim’s voice again.

“And then what…?” he managed, as his hand started increasing the speed again, his blood boiling and his every nerve ending standing on edge from the roots of his curls to the soles of his feet.

“I would sink down on you, inch by inch, all the way to the bottom… Soooo slowly that you’d lose your mind,” Jim whispered. “I would watch you writhe underneath me, and every time you tried bucking your hips upwards to get deeper, I would stop.”

Sherlock was going crazy, listening to Jim's gruff voice and his shallow breathing so close, and he could feel it building in him for real now. He was vaguely aware of the fact that Jim hadn’t even taken his suit jacket off. It should be embarrassing, he should put an end to this careless indulgence, but he couldn’t even find it in him to feel guilty about it. The whole experience was too mind-numbing to care.

“…and when I finally had all of you inside me, filling me up all the way, I would just stop, stay entirely still. Until you begged me to move. Until you called me Daddy and begged me to ride you,” he finished, the smirk back in his voice.

 _FUCK._ The image shouldn’t be such a turn-on, Sherlock realized, but his body’s response made it pointless to even try to deny it.

“Jim, you fucking tease,” Sherlock whimpered weakly through clenched teeth, hell bent on not letting anything resembling a plea escape him.

Jim’s closeness, even though never touching, was maddening. A part of Sherlock wanted to reach out to touch him, and he wondered if Jim was hard against his expensive suit trousers, and if he was touching himself. But he was afraid to break the spell and too far gone in his own world of pleasure to commit to any purposeful action beyond bringing himself closer to the edge. 

“And when you pleaded with me, “Daddy, please ride me”, I would, I would ride you so hard, I would make you see stars, Sherlock.” Jim’s voice was breathy and raw with desire, but still he didn’t touch Sherlock.

“I would let one of my hands down to graze you with my nails, or even slip a finger inside of you, and then you would completely lose it,” Jim breathed. He was so close that Sherlock could feel his breath against his face. Somehow, even through the ocean of pleasure he was floating in, he could distinguish the distinct sensation of goosebumps raising on his arms. 

He knew he was only seconds away from the release that he chased, that Jim guided him to, his hand working himself at full speed now, moans and strangled, nonsensical whispers tumbling out of him.

“I want to watch you come, darling,” Jim’s ragged breath was hot against his face, his voice right at Sherlock’s ear.

Not two seconds later, as in response to Jim’s words, every muscle in Sherlock’s body tensed, a thousand flickering spots glimmered behind his eyelids, and with the most powerful release he had ever felt, he came over his hand and stomach.

“Oh god, fuck, Ji-iiim…” The drawn-out mantra found its way over Sherlock’s lips over and over, as his body shook with a force that was almost alarming in its intensity.

A silence stretched out, only broken by Sherlock’s desperate gasping and small moans. When he started to come back to something of a normal breathing pattern, Jim’s voice finally broke the silence.

“Yes, darling, I'm here. Was I any good?” His voice came from further away now, controlled and level again.

“Oh, holy fuck…” was all the answer Sherlock was capable of, body and mind alike in a state of exhausted bliss. He kept his eyes closed for a while longer, wondering what to do next, what to say to a man who had joust coaxed him into the most intense orgasm he had ever experienced. None the wiser, Sherlock eventually opened his eyes and moved to sit up in the bed.

“What the hell was that, Jim, have you gone compl-...” Sherlock stopped short as he realized that his bedroom was empty again. The window was ajar and the curtain was billowing lightly in the night breeze. He turned and saw that the bedroom door was cracked open as well, probably inentional to make him wonder how the criminal had entered in the first place, and which way he had left.

Sherlock tried to ignore the small stab of disappointment that he hadn’t had a chance to see what state Jim was in after their encounter, and to… thank him? No, that was a meaningless reaction, he told himself, and forced it to the back of his mind. Sherlock sank back on his bed, allowing the soft waves of pleasure that still lingered to wash over him.

“Fuck you, Jim” he moaned softly and closed his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. “Next time I'll _fuck_ you.”


End file.
